


Willy-Nilly Love

by vipjuly



Series: Willy-Nilly [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel's Handprint, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 01:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13470939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Castiel HAS to know how he affects Dean. He's either the biggest dick in the universe, or he really is totally clueless.Hint: He's a dick.





	Willy-Nilly Love

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is short and sweet - my very first supernatural work. easing myself into the groove and the fandom.  
> \o  
> takes place in canon anywhere after season 6 i suppose, there's no established timeline here

Sometimes Castiel really doesn’t have a clue. Or- or, get this: maybe he _does_ have a clue, the best clue ever, the most divine understanding of what he says and does, and he does it all to get a rise out of Dean. Either way, Dean is usually the silent punchline of Castiel’s verbal meanderings, and ok, yeah, so Castiel is still having a hard time adjusting to “human emotions” and all that jazz, but honestly sometimes Dean is sure that Castiel knows exactly what he says and exactly how it affects Dean.

No one could be that oblivious. Right?

Except Dean is stuck ninety-nine percent of the time being sideswiped by the things Castiel says, and what Dean _thinks_ they mean. And when Dean doesn’t have a job to occupy his thoughts, well...

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s gravelly voice is accompanied by the soft percussion of wings. Dean doesn’t even look up from where he’s slouching on the motel bed, face in his hands, elbows on his knees, denim chafing the skin of his joints. “You seem troubled.”

Sitting up and feeling a few things pop in his spine, Dean sends Castiel a lofty, guarded smile. “Do I, now?”

For an angel, the man never seems to have great posture. Shoulders rounded, neck slightly relaxed. He stands with his feet hips’ width apart and Dean forgets sometimes that Castiel is in a vessel, a body that Castiel’s angel form probably pushes and stretches against at every moment, threatening to rip the seams. Apparently there’s not a one-size-fits-all option for vessels, and Castiel more often than not seems like he’s wearing a meat suit that is about two sizes too small. Dean used to think that angels would hold themselves with amazing posture and grace and power - well, most of them do, it seems. All of them but Castiel. Then again, Castiel has always been the odd one out, hasn’t he? And it’s all well and good. Castiel’s less threatening demeanor means he can usually surprise the enemy and gain the upperhand due to an underestimation of his true capabilities. It’s handy. 

But still reminiscent of a pubescent boy going through a growth spurt.

“Where is Sam?” Castiel asks, his brow furrowed as he surveys the room.

“Beer run,” Dean says, leaning back on his hands, palms sinking into the comforter. He’s still regarding Castiel quietly.

In turn, Castiel is regarding Dean with unbidden curiosity. “You are not in danger.”

“Nah,” Dean flashes a smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t even mean to call you.”

Silence blankets over them. Castiel is obviously wondering why he is here, if Dean didn’t mean to pray for him, but Castiel also won’t ask outright. He has infinite patience, most of the time, and seems to know when Dean needs the quiet approval to sort out this thoughts before he speaks. It’s kept Dean from saying some pretty stupid shit, from time to time.

“I, uh,” Dean stands up, rubbing the back of his neck and gesturing idly. “Sorry. You don’t need to hang around.” This is stupid. Sam had left to go to the corner store down the street and in the silence, Dean had let his mind wander. Lately he’s been doing a lot of thinking centering around a certain blue-eyed angel, but he’s managed to cut off his daydreams before they get too out of hand. He’s been pondering over some of the things that Castiel says in passing - things that Castiel probably doesn’t think are any sort of significant, but things that leave an imprint on Dean’s mind anyway. The latest: Their Profound Bond.

“I will keep you company until Sam returns,” Castiel says. He doesn’t make a motion to sit - he just stands where he appeared, between the kitchenette and the beds.

Dean stares at the angel with idle amusement. “At least sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

“Ah,” Castiel immediately sits down in a kitchen chair. “I was unaware that you had anxieties.”

“It’s- it’s a joke.” Dean huffs out a laugh. Ok, so maybe Dean sent up an accidental prayer because he was feeling down on himself. Is that so surprising? He keeps himself as busy as possible, tries to keep his mind occupied and distracted from the turmoil hiding in the shadows, but it doesn’t always work. For some reason, Sam offering to leave and go get beer had threatened to catapult Dean into a depressive episode. And that’s just not him. So his mind had drifted towards the one being who never really… expects anything out of Dean. Except for that one time he was supposed to save the world from apocalypse by allowing a roided up rooster to plant its talons in Dean’s gut and ride him in the crusade against Lucifer. But since that disaster has been avoided, things have been… tame. Ish.

“Anxiety disorders are not a joke,” Castiel says seriously, resting his arm on the table.

Dean rubs his face, pinches the bridge of his nose, and then claps his hands together, flashing a fake smile. “Right. Cas, you really don’t need to stay.”

Castiel levels Dean with a stare that tells Dean he’s not going anywhere. Dean is a little taken aback by it, but he accepts it, shrugging and moving to sit on the bed again. After a few moments of silence, Dean stands up again - maybe he is a little anxious - and then makes his way into the kitchenette to get himself a glass of water.

“You came quick,” Dean finally says, leaning his hip against the counter as he brings the glass to his lips. Sitting in silence with Castiel has always been... unnerving. Especially for Dean, who hates silence altogether.

“You sounded like you needed me,” Castiel replies simply.

Dean gets a little defensive, “And when I’m getting my ass whooped, or when Sammy’s in danger, I don’t need you then? All those times I pray for you and you never come?”

Castiel’s head tilts. “I have my priorities.”

“Bullshit,” Dean spits. Now he’s just picking a fight for no reason. Is he really feeling that messed up right now?

“I know you are aware of the state of things right now,” Castiel says patiently. 

Dean puts his glass down on the counter, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I get that, but aren’t Sammy and I pretty instrumental in what’s going on? We’re not just two Joe Schmoe’s watching on the sidelines, Cas, _we_ are a part of all of this too.”

“Which I appreciate,” Castiel says. His blue eyes are so dark, in the dim motel lighting. “Did you call me here to be your punching bag?”

Dean darts forward, hands fisting in the crumpled material of Castiel’s trench coat, yanking the angel up out of his seat. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears and he feels his blood rushing in his veins and Jesus he’s just pissed. For no damn reason. Castiel is mostly unresponsive, but when Dean doesn’t say anything after yanking him up, Castiel gently rests his hands over Dean’s wrists.

“Dean.” He says quietly, but firmly.

Glancing down at Castiel’s fingers encasing his wrists, Dean clenches his jaw. He gives Castiel a little shake and brings him a fraction closer, their noses almost touching as Dean glares at him. “I would never turn you into my punching bag. Don’t you ever fucking think that.”

“Your actions seem to disregard your words,” Castiel says plainly. His fingers are warm around Dean’s wrists.

And damn it, Castiel is right. Dean’s holding him like he’s going to throttle him, and Dean hates that, so he relaxes his grip slightly on the angel’s lapel. Castiel doesn’t move away - he stays planted, firm, brow furrowed and lips in a thin line.

“What am I to you?” Dean finally asks through gritted teeth, green eyes wet and shoulders tensed.

Castiel searches Dean’s eyes for a moment, before he unwinds the fingers of one hand from Dean’s wrist only to rest his palm over Dean’s left shoulder. The raised flesh underneath tingles and sends a calming sensation through Dean’s body, mentally and physically, the fight leaving him as he relaxes fully, his hands now limply holding on to Castiel’s trench coat.

“What does it matter?” Castiel finally replies.

Dean’s lips flap a bit uselessly as he tries to think of why it matters. “Are you only bonded to me because you saved me from the pit?”

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is deep, firm. “What answer are you seeking?”

“Our bond,” Dean manages to repeat. Why does he feel like he’s about to choke up?

Castiel’s features relax and he smiles softly, allowing Dean some space as he lets the man go. “It runs deep.”

“How deep?” Dean presses.

“Dean,” Castiel sounds like he’s placating a toddler, and it would normally piss Dean off, but Castiel’s hand is still on the mark on Dean’s shoulder, keeping him calm. “I am unsure this conversation is happening in your right mind.”

“Well when you Franz Mesmer me it’s kind of hard to be sure what state of mind I’m in,” Dean accuses. Castiel immediately pulls his hand away from Dean’s shoulder. Dean rolls his eyes and huffs, the calming sensation leaving him. “Oh come on, you get _that_ reference?”

“My apologies.” Castiel says, taking another step away. “You are conflicted Dean. I am ill-equipped to handle the questions you are asking.”

“And why the hell not, huh? They’re about _you_ , Cas!” 

“Perhaps because even I am unsure of the answers.” Castiel averts his gaze, before sitting down again.

“Give it your best shot, then,” Dean implores, frowning down at the angel. 

“I don’t know what words I could say that specify it,” Castiel explains, meeting Dean’s gaze. “I can only tell you what I know, and what I feel.” Dean makes a motion for Castiel to get on with it. Castiel, bless him, continues patiently. “I have given my life for you, and would many times more, without second thought. I would bring you back again, too. If I could keep you protected and safe at all times, I would, but I have knowledge of the fact that you seem reluctant to get any personal help at any time, no matter the situation. I believe Sam called it ‘fragile masculinity’-”

Dean waves a hand quickly, irritation flaring again. “Just- keep going.”

“ _I_ believe humans call it love,” Castiel finishes up neatly, regarding Dean with his usual stoic, deep gaze.

Dean squints, “You love me?”

“I believe so, yes.”

Dean puts both hands over his face. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“You wished for me to put it into words, and that is the most uncomplicated thing I can say.”

“Right. Well,” Dean holds his hands out to his sides, letting out an incredulous laugh. “You love me. Super. Alright, this chick flick is over. Sorry I called you down here for nothing.”

“Your emotions are in upheaval,” Castiel stands up, walking over towards Dean, hand extended. “Allow me to help you calm down.”

“No no no,” Dean takes a step back, swatting Castiel’s hand away. “Step away, Houdini. I think I’ve gotten it figured out.”

“You don’t seem to have come to a logical solution to your emotional crisis,” Castiel points out. Unnecessarily.

“ _Ok,_ ,” Dean huffs, turning around so he doesn’t have to look into those beautiful blue eyes. Great. “You do know there’s like, a difference- between loving someone and being _in_ love with someone?” He doesn’t want to be explaining this to anyone, let alone Castiel. Wonderful. What is taking Sam so long?

“I understand that love, itself, is a… broad concept,” Castiel says thoughtfully. 

Dean turns around. “You’re damn right it is. And it’s not something you can just say all willy-nilly without thinking about the consequences.”

“I was unaware that negative consequences could happen as a result of a confession,” Castiel frowns.

“I don’t imagine an angel really has much experience with rejection,” Dean grouses, rubbing his hands over his face for what feels like the hundredth time, before he finally sits down on the bed again, this time to stay planted. 

“I am of the impression that when two people love each other, they should be together.”

Dean squints. “Who says I love you?”

“Is that not what you are in turmoil about?” Castiel’s head tilts.

Dean feels heat rising on the back of his neck. “I- uh.” He _pffft_ s and shakes his head. “No, Cas, I don’t love you.”

“You shouldn’t hide your feelings,” Castiel says, taking a step closer.

Leaning back a bit with his hands, Dean eyes Castiel warily. Castiel seems persistent, and- damn it, they’re having this conversation, and Dean supposes it should happen the way it’s meant to. Sighing heavily, he looks up at the ceiling instead of at Castiel. “Alright. I’m _in_ love with you.” His gaze slides down to take in Castiel’s reaction. “Is that what you want to hear?”

Castiel only smiles. “It is what I have always known.”

A flutter of wings and Castiel is gone, causing Dean to jolt up off of the bed and punch the air, yelling angrily, “Oh come _on_!!”

Castiel _definitely_ has a clue, and is _very_ aware as to what he does to Dean.

“What a dick.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was so fun and surprisingly easy to write (thank god)  
> idk about castiel's handprint actually having that affect on dean but it's kinda fun to imagine and play with, sue me  
> leave some kudos and comments~  
> and i will see you again soon!  
> stalk me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


End file.
